


The wickedness that made it

by FancifulRivers



Series: faded morning glories and hopes for a better future [9]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Disabled Character, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:51:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5847490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancifulRivers/pseuds/FancifulRivers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frisk and Chara bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The wickedness that made it

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Undertale.
> 
> Set fairly soon after they come up and live among humanity again.

"I used to cut myself a lot," you say suddenly. Frisk looks over at you, curled into a pained ball against the tree in the backyard. 

"What do you mean, used to?" Frisk asks, and there's laughter in their voice, but it's not mean laughter, and you uncurl a little, sticking your tongue out at them.

"Shut up," you say. "It was worse before." Frisk nods, their forehead scrunching thoughtfully.

"I hit myself a lot," Frisk confides. "You saw- when I had to leave-" They flush, looking down at the ground.

"Yeah," you say, because you don't know what else  _to_ say.

It's weird, because you wouldn't think sitting in a backyard and talking about the ways you've tried to self destruct would be a pleasant way to spend an afternoon, but it is. Toriel's off somewhere, probably doing something monster/human-related, and Asriel's with her. He hasn't left her side very much since you've come up from the underground, and you can't really blame him. He wakes you up at night with his screams. Sometimes you wake him up first with yours.

"I hate it up here," Frisk says suddenly. "I mean- I like it here with Toriel and you and Asriel and seeing Asgore and Sans and, and everyone, it's just-" They stop, heaving a breath. Their fists are clenched so tightly, their knuckles are white.

"You like the monsters, but everything else can fuck itself?" you finish. Frisk laughs, a thin, watery sound that makes your shoulders tense.

"Not how I was going to say it, but yeah," Frisk agrees. "Humans kind of suck."

"Well, that we can agree on," you say. Your hands twinge and your throat feels raw for a second.

You look up, at the wisps of cloud scudding across the sky. It's pretty up here, at least, you think. The sky is clear, the clouds are ephemeral marshmallow sculptures, and the grass is surprisingly comfortable, even for your broken body.

"Did you ever burn yourself?" you ask. You don't know why. It's not like this topic is a good one for either of you. Frisk shakes their head, rolling a blade of grass between their fingers like a lifeline. 

"Did you?" they question. You shrug lopsidedly.

"Couple times," you say and flip over one arm, showing the very faint burn scars that still pepper the inside of your elbow.  "It hurts like a bitch though."

"Isn't that the point?" Frisk giggles, and you throw a handful of grass at them.

"Not always," you say. You know they know that, but you say it anyway. 

"Where did you put your crutches?" Frisk asks suddenly, looking around. Your cheeks turn red.

"Uh, the trash," you admit. 

"Chara!" Frisk exclaims, half-rising to their feet. "Those were expensive-"

"Oh well," you say, shrugging and relaxing further against the tree. "Not my problem."

"And you need them," Frisk continues, glaring at you. You scowl.

"You can get them out if you want," you tell them. "And I don't need them. I don't need shit."

"You do," Frisk says again, and you know they're talking about more than the crutches, but you don't want to acknowledge it, so instead you just close your eyes and pretend like you're going to sleep. You hear an exasperated huff of breath before Frisk gets up and you hear the patter of their sneakers on the grass.

A few minutes later, something clatters to the ground next to you. You open your eyes and see your forearm crutches, now plastered with dinosaur band-aids. Frisk's looking at you with eyes that are half defiance, half something else.

"Thanks," you mumble. Frisk smiles, taking a cross-legged seat next to you again.

"That cloud looks like Alphys," they say, pointing at the relevant portion of the sky. You squint up.

"Oh my god, it does." Your mouth drops open. "Brilliant."


End file.
